Only she knows This sadness (Always hidden in hindrance) this quest for joy (a distance between us) always painful and wise (an always that stays in our eyes.) Can we survive the sadness of this world? (Only she knows, the Mother.) Image source: http://www.roerich.org/museum-paintings-catalogue.php
Categorie: Poems
How many todays till eternity? Calling the name (thousands of trumpets twisting the air) a stamp, a picture, a drop of sun (encircled by lines and dots) is honoring that fragment we know (forgetting the vastness of the unknown) living beyond the boundaries of letters (though) we honor a name and a time (thus
Too hot for a poem, too hot for a dream, too hot for a feeling (except this song thrusting through the heat, a song that I heard when I still hoped you do exist). https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pCeX6ONLvgs
This Sunday’s quietude clears the space The sky’s light burns every scam in mind (waiting for anything, in limbo states, desires, expectations, stupid plans, a chain of words that paves reality) A green-white-golden peace Fills the air that I breathe. This Sunday’s spotless sky Reminds me of a mountain, The clear encompassing vision
A candle a language of light and of fire (a sign that marked our birth) stamping our life with the cold of weird loneliness. This weird feeling makes no sense for people of the signs of fire, though it might be the essence of the fire consuming everything till, dry and grey, the ashes lightly
Worlds of Words 